Over Here, At The Side of Your Life
by DistinctVagueness
Summary: Eyes meet across a chaotic classroom. POV reflections. May or may not be a one-shot. SSHG


Over Here, At The Side Of Your Life… Distinct Vagueness 

_The lyrics used in this fic from the song 'Do you have a little time?" belong to Dido and her album 'Life for Rent.' J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter and all related characters etc, so sue me if you wish, the sad fact is, I barely own a thing in reality either._

_This may be a little confusing. It switches from Severus's POV, to Hermione and so forth. Don't judge me on my mindless ramblings…I was just writing whatever came into my head._

_Currently this is a one-shot but when I'm clear of other things in the future I might write actual chapters. Do you think I should?_

If you're feeling low and lost today 

_Probably doing too much again_

_Spend all your hours just rushing around_

_Do you have a little time for me?_

As the clock strikes two on a balmy Friday afternoon, the classroom is mercilessly invaded by clamouring footsteps, mindless chitchat and the many faces of today's naïve and untrained minds. Your head thuds in annoyance

Hogwarts seventh-years, no less.

Your entrance is not the feared event that it once was. No more is there a hushed silence as you sweep, black robes billowing, into the room. No downcast sighs as it is once again proved, seemingly, that hell will freeze over before you are absent. No, not now. You're a War Hero. Rumours of your being the loyal servant of a murderous Dark Lord are quashed at last. The only thing to fear now is an overworked mind, sharp but useless responses or a dark glance. You're tired and the desire to direct any suppressed anger is only inflicted upon a few.

You simply slam the heavy door behind you, with the faintest hope that it might stir some students prematurely on edge for their N.E.W.T's. No such luck. Quite unawares that a man ready for his final resting place, but cruelly disallowed that kind escape, is dispiritedly attempting to gain their attention, whilst hoping his distracted audience would simply disappear.

Slow down, my love, you're confusing me 

_If you're feeling stressed just try calling_

_Spend your time waiting for anyone to see_

_Do you have a little time for me?_

'Like looking for a needle in a haystack,' your mother would comment on the search for a hard to find object in a world full of such quandaries. It's times like these you feel as the proverbial needle did. Surrounded by blunt, bland masquerades that fervently pursue their ceaseless mission to hide you from sight. Sure, they find it fitting- you don't want to be uncovered, and they don't want to be pulled onto your seesaw suspended in the terrifying battle between remaining crouched low and leaping higher. Is it just to prove you can, which you already know, or to overshadow the rest, to stand out from the straw? If you do, are you exposing yourself to those who might seek you, giving them the opportunity to use you as they wish?

That tugging feeling inside, which does not deserve to be given the name Lucifer nor Gabriel, such is it's divergence, tells you to stay, cloaked, to keep working your magic from within. They know you're there, those on the outside, the haystack, but it's already hard enough to reflect the scant daylight without another to challenge them for the privilege, one that already shines will surely reflect the beams. Yet, the occasional generous member of the straw beckons to you to share the sun. You could easily laugh as another actor comes into play now- fear. It grows inside your stomach, churning out countless conflicting emotions until you realise, you may not be able to climb to the top of the haystack after all, despite all of the fine talents you are so proud of. His scathing comments echo to you now, _"Isn't it interesting, that while your fine friends strive for your assistance, they never seem to acknowledge or promote your existence as more than background?"_

_If you should stop for a while_

_You will find me standing by_

_Over here, at the side of your life_

_I'd like to hold you still_

_Remind you of all you've missed_

_If you have a little time, if you have a little time, that is…_

Pushing all of your damning thoughts to the recesses of your mind, you hear yourself take in a breath before addressing those who appear to be ignoring you. Feeling repetitive and monotonous, you proceed to tell them how they are to occupy their minds for the next two, perhaps less if you're blessed, long hours. Directing your wand in a bored fashion at the blackboard, you bestow upon them a warning; scouring cauldrons, bedpans, dungeon number five and the like, if they fail to complete the less than taxing concoction they have been set. You feel a strange sadness at the fact that you used to derive some sort of pleasure from these castigations. No more do you have that satisfaction.

You return to your desk, with no longing to stand disconcertingly behind an already nervous student, bent over by the stress of never-ending examinations, essays and evaluations. Instead, you watch, knowing your gaze still holds precedence in this room. 

The clatter of careless preparation hurts your ears and you long to grasp the distilling apparatus from their hands, to adjust the cauldron flames, to chop the roots that are being harshly mutilated by an uncaring blade, with an even more uncaring hand. Albus's words float unwillingly in your mind, _"But they would never learn that way, Severus…_" and you are forced to agree he is right. Although it seems hopeless that they will ever achieve the standard you always strive for.

But wait. One, just one, stands alone, eyes narrowed in deliberation, hands still but controlling, confidence portrayed in firm features. And, as always, achieving perfection. Still, despite the dedicated concentration, you know she could be doing this in her sleep.

_If you let me listen, I'll make you feel clear_

_Spend your time waiting for anyone to see_

Feeling, once again, that the work you have been told to carry out is little more than child's play, you set about taking the concentrated snake venom and pouring it into the thin tube of the distilling apparatus hanging over the cauldron. Checking, though you already know, that the flame beneath your cauldron is a gentle one (necessary for simmering), you rinse out your measuring cylinder and lay it neatly among your other Potions equipment. It wasn't obligatory to buy many items for this class, except the most frequently used ones, like cauldrons, but you'd spent your own money on them anyway. It's nice to have your own things, to your own preference and using the apparatus available in the classroom limited you outside of it.

You sit down for a moment, and after glancing over to Neville to check on his progress (unusually well it seems this afternoon), you pull a book out of your bag and begin reading up on the properties of more volatile ingredients, inspecting your cauldron every so often.

As you turn a new page, a strange sensation begins to tiptoe up your spine. Uneasy, you slowly, carefully, place the tome back onto the desk and raise your eyes, only to send another shock down your back.

He's watching you. But that isn't what is making you feel so odd. The sarcastic comment suggesting you should 'get back to work' doesn't come, and it appears that he is not judging you…simply studying you. When your gaze meets his dark, unwavering one, the feeling becomes even more unfamiliar. Neither competitor is willing to give up the optical encounter and the shadowed message behind the black irises urges you on.

_Why do you still run when you could walk with me?_

_Life will pass you by when you move this quickly_

_What can you see when you're spinning around_

_Do you have a little time for me?_

Strangely compelled to continue this steadfast staring contest, you delve into her warm brown eyes with your own iciness, searching them out, wondering why she has not averted your gaze yet. The words you could say to irritate, embarrass, even upset her almost choke you by refusing to escape from your lips.

Instead, you keep up the connection and a peculiar numbness grows within you. Streams of foreign thoughts are slowly merging in your mind and as you carry on staring intently, you start to realise why. Why you have yet to release your eyes from her and her apparent lack of wishing to release her own from yourself. Unknowingly, you have created a link, and as you gaze at each other, oblivious to the environment around, you understand, you _know._

A splash suddenly draws both yours and her attention, breaking the contact between you abruptly. Longbottom is staring in a dejected manner at a sizzling, congealed mess pouring unrestrainedly onto the stone ground.

Still shaken, you rise from your seat, ready to invoke a well-deserved rebuke and to get rid of the accident before it causes harm, when she steps forward, brings out her wand and shouts a cleansing charm, taking charge of the situation and silencing the yells of those nearest the spill. Your entire class turns to look at you. They know what is coming. And as ritual commands, you tell her exactly what you think of her rescue attempt.

You lie.

Eager to push away any unwanted ideas, you subtract an outrageous amount of House points and tell the angry Gryffindors and your smirking Slytherins to get out of your classroom. They scuttle away quickly, avoiding your dark stare. She is the only one left, and as she puts away her equipment, she looks at you. The distinct chill returns. There is no reproach or fury in her eyes. She _knows._

When she leaves, you slam a fist into the desk. You don't care about the mess of your classroom or her quick thinking. You're angry at the way she was able to slip past your barriers and secure a bond before you cut off it's beginning. And most of all, you're angry at her strange ability to make you feel that you are not alone.

_If you should stop for a while_

_You will find me standing by                                    _

_Over here, at the side of your life_

_I'd like to hold you still_

_Remind you of all you've missed_

_If you have a little time, if you have a little time, that is…_


End file.
